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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354500">Walk With Me Out On The Wire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/acequid/pseuds/acequid'>acequid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, F/F, First Kiss, Post-Season 2, it's sexual tension if the author says it's sexual tension and the author does</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:13:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/acequid/pseuds/acequid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tory says, "You don't know anything about me, LaRusso," like it's something Sam can't learn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Samantha LaRusso/Tory, Samantha LaRusso/Tory Nichols</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>158</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Walk With Me Out On The Wire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She hasn’t eaten in two days.</p><p>Not since the fight, and the hospital, and Miguel. She’s been discharged for a little less than twenty-four hours now, and her mom’s prepared a family dinner like it’s just any other school night and everything is normal. </p><p>Only, the bandages wrapped tightly around her arm under her shirt aren’t normal. The bottle of pills next to her plate that she’s supposed to take with every meal to “manage her pain” aren’t normal. The strict instructions from the doctor to move as little as possible “so as not to aggravate her rib” aren’t normal. Her ex-boyfriend trapped in a medically-induced coma isn’t normal.</p><p>Everything is about as far from normal as it can get. </p><p>She picks at the chicken in front of her with a fork, aimlessly pushing it around her plate. “Sam, honey?” Amanda asks, breaking the silence that’s fallen over the table. “Do you want something else? We have some leftover spaghetti in the fridge, I could heat it up…?"</p><p>Sam lifts her head. “No, I…” she smiles tightly. “That’s ok, Mom. I’m just not that hungry.” </p><p><em> I’m just not that hungry. </em> </p><p>It’s what she has to say, instead of, <em> Sorry I can’t eat your famous herb chicken Mom, because Miguel is in the hospital right now sucking liquid nutrients out of a tube and thinking about it makes me want to vomit on Anthony, and then he’d throw a fit, and that’d probably ruin family dinner night, wouldn’t it?  </em></p><p>Her mom nods, concern clear in her eyes. “Alright. But tell me if you get hungry later, I’ll fix you something.” </p><p>Her dad chooses this moment to speak up, saying, “Sweetheart, I know this situation with Miguel has been hard for you. If you want to talk about it—”</p><p>“Actually, Dad?” She cuts him off. She has to. It’s either that, or start crying in front of her whole family, and she’s not ready for that. “I think I’m gonna go drive around a little. Get some air. Is that ok?” She watches the look her parents shoot each other, praying <em> please, please… </em> </p><p>“Just…” Daniel starts, “be back by eight thirty.” Her mom narrows her eyes at him a little, and he amends, “Nine. At the latest! We’re worried about you, Sam.” </p><p>Next to her, Anthony doesn’t even look up from his phone to roll his eyes. She doesn’t care; she just needs to get out of there. “I know. I’m fine, really.” <em> I’m not fine, really. </em> “I’ll be back soon, thanks.”</p><p>She stands as quickly as the pain in her side will allow, hesitates for a second before swiping the pills off the table and retreating down the hallway to the front of the house. </p><p>She dry-swallows three before she reaches her car.</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The radio’s playing some Bruce Springsteen song which, whatever, she has taste. She rolls all the windows down and cranks the station up. The combination of wind and electric guitar makes it almost impossible to hear anything, including her own thoughts. Perfect.</p><p>As she peels off down her street, she considers her options. She could go to Aisha’s, though after the all-out war between their dojos, she’s not even sure they’re on speaking terms. She could go see Moon, make sure the other girl isn’t traumatized for life. She could check Johnny Lawrence’s place for Robby, who won’t return her calls or texts. She could go to the hospital... </p><p>The point is, she has places she could be.</p><p>She goes nowhere. </p><p>She starts making random turns, not keeping track of street names, not caring. She can’t care about anything, not right now. There’s nothing in her head. There’s just the road, the blinking lights of the valley, the sound of her engine revving into a higher gear. Bruce growling <em> nowhere to run, ain’t got nowhere to go; </em> she’d never tell her dad, but she sings along with him.</p><p>She ends up in a neighborhood she’s never seen before, a few miles from one of the obnoxious LaRusso Auto billboards. (She understands why her parents like them, but seriously? A fifteen-foot-tall image of your dad smiling over a city’s-worth of traffic? <em> Embarrassing.) </em> The roads here are quieter, and she’s forced to slow down slightly as a series of turns come up. At the end of the street she passes an empty playground, abandoned except for—</p><p>She screeches to a halt, slams the car into reverse.</p><p>
  <em> No no no no no— </em>
</p><p>Her engine’s off and she’s charging out of the car before she can even register moving.</p><p>There’s a flicker of sudden recognition in Tory’s eyes, and then Sam has her by the collar up against a metal support pole. </p><p>“This is all your fault! <em> Yours!” </em> All the thoughts she was running from are crashing back, flashes of Robby’s kick—Miguel suspended in midair—the screaming—the horrible, horrible <em> silence— </em> it all narrows down to one point, and that point is Tory’s voice spitting <em> bitch </em> over the intercom. ”You didn’t have to fight me! I was <em> drunk; </em> it was just a kiss! We could have talked! About! It!” She punctuates each word by shaking Tory forward and slamming her back into the pole.</p><p>Tory ducks her grasp, spins them so they’re in fighting positions: <em> “Fuck </em> you!” she snaps, eyes wide, the silence of the night shattered. “What was I supposed to think? Perfect Samantha <em> fucking </em> LaRusso, it’s not enough to have the rich-ass family and the perfect life, what, you needed to steal my boyfriend, too? Miguel—” Her voice cracks on Miguel’s name and she charges Sam, they’re not even doing karate, it’s just grappling and it’s messy and they’re both covered in bruises and cuts from school and Sam doesn’t even <em> care, </em> she just needs to hit something, anything, because Miguel is back at the hospital lying motionless and pale and no one knows if he’ll ever wake <em> up </em>—</p><p>They fall together onto the climbing structure, Sam banging her ribs and Tory landing on her shoulder and they disengage, collapsing on the ground and cradling their injuries, wheezing “<em>Fuck” </em> simultaneously.</p><p>Sam’s crying. She’s crying, she can’t help it: “You didn’t have to fight me. You didn’t <em> have to </em> — not then, not right in the middle of <em> school </em>—you didn’t have to,” because as much as she blames Tory, she also blames herself; if she hadn’t risen to the challenge, if she had just walked away, if she hadn’t kissed him in the first place…  “They don’t know if he’ll even wake up, you know? He could—he could—” she breaks off into a sob.</p><p>Tory throws her uninjured arm over her face, says, softly, “Don’t you think I know that?” and all the fight goes out of both of them. It’s just Miguel in their minds, these warring memories between the goofy, grinning guy they both fell for and the lifeless body in the hospital.</p><p>All around them, the crickets start chirping.</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>An indeterminate amount of time passes before Sam finally says, “You cracked my rib, you know.” </p><p>They’re an arms length away from each other. Both on their backs, faces up to the stars, immobilized with pain. Sam doesn’t even want to consider standing up, let alone making it back to her car and driving home.</p><p>“Aw, just a crack? Should’ve kicked you harder,” Tory responds, as she tries to push herself up but hisses and falls back to the ground. </p><p>“Please, like you could have,” Sam scoffs.</p><p>“Screw you! I was winning that fight and you know it. Right up until you...what was it? Oh yeah, <em> kicked me down the stairs.” </em> </p><p>Sam slaps at her ineffectually, trying to muster rage but just coming up with exhaustion. “You were the one who came at me with a <em> knife bracelet! </em> Seriously, how did security even let you wear that into school? I had to get stitches!” </p><p>Tory makes a strangled sound that could almost be a laugh. “Whatever. You survived, didn’t you?” Sam doesn’t say anything and thoughts of Miguel come crashing back over them like a tsunami. </p><p>The boy who stood up in the cafeteria, and mini-golf, and banter over basketball. The airplane, and countless hours of training, and the roller rink. The party, the kiss, the fight. </p><p>The fall. </p><p>“I’m sorry I kicked you down the stairs,” Sam mutters eventually, because everything that’s not a boy in a coma right now is unimportant and she’s not a monster. “But I thought you were going to... I thought you were <em> actually </em> going to kill me, honestly. The whole ‘No Mercy’ thing.” </p><p>Sam can’t see it, but Tory closes her eyes, bites her lip, thinking. “I thought I was, too.”</p><p>Sam’s sure she misheard. “What?”</p><p>“I thought I was going to kill you. I mean, I wanted to hurt you, you know? I <em> really </em> wanted to hurt you. I still kinda want to hurt you.” she exhales shakily. “I wasn’t really thinking. I was just so <em> angry…” </em></p><p>“Oh, well. As long as you were <em> upset,” </em> sarcasm drips from Sam’s voice. “Beat the crap out of me anytime, then.”</p><p>“Shut up, princess. Let me just...this isn’t easy.”</p><p>Sam instinctively holds her hands up in surrender and blinks back the tears that well in her eyes at the movement.</p><p>“You have everything. Everything. And you don’t even realize it,” Tory’s voice is small and hard. It makes Sam want to shift away, and she would, if she could move her body. “You have the house, and the car, and the perfect family. Both your parents love you. They probably tell you every damn day.” The resentment that comes through in every word, resentment aimed at <em> her, </em> makes Sam wince. “I bet you’ve never been hungry in your life! Right? Of course I’m right. You live in this...this fucking <em> fantasy, </em> where you never have to work, and nothing ever goes wrong, so you get to believe in all that ‘honor and mercy’ <em> bullshit.” </em> Sam cranes her neck sideways on the ground to watch Tory’s side profile as she speaks. The other girl looks straight up into the sky, talking into the air. “That’s not real life. Real life is… there are no rules. It’s not a fantasy. And when you find something you really like, you take it. And if someone tries to <em> steal </em> it from you—” she makes a wild poke at Sam’s side, who grunts in unexpected pain. “—you fight for it.”</p><p>“I wasn’t stealing anything,” Sam says quietly. “I was drunk. You know, you were <em> there. </em> I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean to kiss him.”</p><p>“Yeah, you did,” Tory’s laugh is humorless. “That wasn’t why I was mad though. I mean, it was, partly. Obviously. But he kissed you back. That’s what you don’t get. He kissed you back, because he still loves you. Do you know how much it <em> sucks </em> when your boyfriend is still in love with his ex? Because it really freaking sucks.”</p><p>And Sam doesn’t know what to say, because she’s turning the word <em> love </em> over and over in her mind, lining it up against her memories of Miguel, comparing each one to the word like puzzle pieces that will fit together perfectly if she just finds the right ones. </p><p>“What? No comeback?” Tory finally turns her head a little, glances at Sam out of the corner of her eye. </p><p>“I...I’m sorry,” Sam says. Tory snorts. “Seriously. I shouldn’t have kissed him. But you still shouldn’t have attacked me! Geez! Just because everyone suddenly knows karate doesn’t mean we have to <em> use </em> it all the time!”</p><p>Tory rolls her eyes. “Give me a break. A fight like that was bound to happen sooner or later. All that rampant testosterone in one school? I just made it sooner.” She grits her teeth and digs her uninjured arm into the woodchips, pushing. “Shit,” she hisses. “I know you apologized for kicking me down the stairs and everything, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.”</p><p>Sam watches her struggle with some measure of genuine concern. “Did you actually break anything?”</p><p>Tory manages to sit up, breathing hard. “I don’t really know.”</p><p>Sam furrows her brow. “How can you not know? Didn’t you get an x-ray?”</p><p>Tory laughs, loudly, like this is the funniest thing in the world to her. “Yeah, not everyone can afford a quick trip to the hospital for some cuts and bruises, princess. I didn’t go.”</p><p>“What?” Sam props herself up on her elbows, taking shallow breaths. Her ribs throb with each beat of her heart. “Help me up here, would you?”</p><p>She freezes as soon as the words leave her mouth. Two days ago, this was a girl who was trying to <em> stab </em> her, possibly to death. You don’t ask your enemy for help. </p><p>To her surprise, though, Tory grimaces but shifts closer and leans to flatten her palm against the top of Sam’s back.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Sam nods, preemptively shutting her eyes. “Go.”</p><p>Tory pushes, and Sam swears under her breath as she’s guided into a sitting position. <em> “Mother </em>fu—owww...”  The pain is almost enough to distract Sam from the heat Tory’s hand is radiating into her back. Almost.</p><p>Tory grins, and it stretches a cut on her lip almost back to bleeding. “You know, it’s kind of hard to hate you when you’re this pathetic,” and Sam can’t even muster the energy to swing at her.</p><p>“What do you mean, you didn’t <em> go </em> to the hospital?” Sam demands, once she recovers her breath.</p><p>Tory yanks her hand away like she’s been burned and picks at her shoelace. “What are you? Weak <em> and </em> stupid? Exactly what it sounds like. I didn’t go. We can’t…” She trails off, staring into space. And maybe it’s because the image of Carmen Diaz sobbing outside an operating room is hovering over them like a ghost; and maybe it’s because every minute of the past two days Tory’s been asking herself what would have happened if she’d just let the kiss <em> go; </em> and maybe, maybe it’s because Tory’s hand is itching to touch Sam again, and maybe not just as a punch. </p><p>Whatever the reason, Tory keeps talking. “My mom works two jobs. We don’t have an extra thousand dollars just lying around for joyrides to the emergency room, you know? Not everyone can use Daddy’s credit card.” She echoes her words from the roller rink and for the first time, Sam actually starts to get it. “I’m not coughing up blood. I can move. Well, mostly. I’m fine.”</p><p>Sam wants to protest. She wants to drag the other girl to get medical attention. (Not because she cares, or anything. Because anyone hurt deserves help. Obviously.) She wants to brush her thumb over the bruise staining Tory’s cheekbone. She wants to <em> what?  </em>Instead, she says, “I didn’t know.”</p><p>And Tory sneers and says, “You don’t know anything about me, LaRusso,” like it’s something Sam can’t learn.</p><p>~<br/><br/></p><p>They make it to the car. Slowly.</p><p>Tory can stand first, left arm totally limp but otherwise seemingly okay. Better than Sam, at least, who can’t move her torso and breathe at the same time.</p><p>(“Wow, I really fucked you up, huh?” Tory asks, not even trying to hide the glee in her voice as Sam struggles.</p><p>“Could...say the same...about you,” Sam manages to grit out through her teeth between movements.</p><p>The hostile act is shattered somewhat by the fact that Tory’s good arm is employed in pulling Sam to her feet. </p><p>More so because after, it takes her a second too long to let go.)</p><p>They shuffle-step towards the curb together: not touching, but close enough to catch the other in case of a fall. It’s strangely familiar, and Sam knows she should be wary, but she’s just...not. If Tory wanted to fight her, hurt her, or yeah, even kill her, she’s had plenty of opportunity to do so. She hasn’t. So, Sam’s kind of fine with the other girl’s presence.</p><p>“You know we’re going to have to kill your coward boyfriend,” Tory says all matter-of-fact, twenty paces from the car.</p><p>Sam is suddenly very much less fine. <em> “What?” </em> she asks, stunned</p><p>Tory shrugs her right arm, eyes trained on the ground. “Robby. He’s the one who...if Miguel doesn’t...” Sam’s mouth goes dry, and Tory goes on. “He messed with Cobra Kai, and ran. We can’t let that slide.”</p><p>Sam can’t believe what she’s hearing. <em> “You </em> started it!” They reach the car and Sam grabs hold of Tory’s arm, forces them face to face. “You can’t pin this all on Robby! He wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for you!” </p><p>Tory’s eyes flash, and she’s suddenly close. Way close. Close enough that Sam can see the anger distorting her features, and the lipgloss on her lips reflecting the streetlights. “And why was <em> I </em> there, Sam? Who was the one who decided <em> one </em> boyfriend wasn’t enough?”</p><p>Sam’s head is spinning, because they’re going backwards. Weren’t they just here? Didn’t they just do the anger thing, the violence thing, the blame thing? “Stop,” she pleads, trying to push Tory farther away. “Just, stop. I can’t do this! We can’t do this. It doesn’t matter! Don’t you see it doesn’t matter?” She can’t articulate, doesn’t know how—</p><p>“You can’t say it doesn’t matter! If Miguel doesn’t wake up, do you know what that makes Robby? Uh, last time I checked, that makes him a <em> murderer, </em> princess!” Tory’s too close—</p><p>“If Miguel doesn’t wake up, nothing matters!” Sam finally snaps, ribs dulled with a shot of adrenaline. She grabs Tory’s shoulders—jerking the injured one extra hard and drawing a sharp gasp from the other girl—and backs her against the side of the car. “Just, shut up! You can’t say he won’t wake up! He has to! Just, shut the <em> fuck—” </em></p><p>Tory kisses her.</p><p>Tory grabs the back of Sam’s neck, jerks her close, and kisses her.</p><p>Every coherent thought in Sam’s mind is blasted to fucking smithereens.</p><p>Her hands fist at her sides as her brain screams <em> fight the attack, </em> and her body refuses to listen. Refuses to listen so much, in fact, that she doesn’t even register kissing Tory back until her lungs start to burn from a lack of oxygen. </p><p>Sam breaks away just long enough for one breath, before answering the silent question in Tory’s eyes by threading her fingers through the other girl’s hair and pulling their mouths back together. Hard.</p><p>She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She so, <em> so </em> doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s on the side of the road in the middle of the night, making out with the girl who basically confessed to trying to put a bunch of <em> knives </em> through her throat two days earlier. (Only, she kind of does know what she’s doing, because it’s either this or they rip each other to pieces, and Sam’s seen enough of the inside of a hospital for a while.)</p><p>It feels more like a fight than any kiss she’s ever had. Hell, it feels more like a fight than most actual fights she’s had. </p><p>It’s just Tory’s mouth, hot and searing, sucking Sam’s bottom lip and <em> biting. </em> It’s Sam’s fingernails against Tory’s scalp, taking a handful of hair and wrenching the other girl’s head back so Sam can suck bruises into her neck. Tory’s hand drifts down from Sam’s neck to her back, pulling them flush together (thighs, arms, <em> chests) </em>, but digging her thumb dangerously close to Sam’s injured rib. Sam bites into Tory’s pulse point in response, drawing a slight moan from the other girl—who tightens her grip on Sam’s ribcage.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Sam hisses, attacking the skin just below Tory’s ear. She can’t see, but Tory smirks.</p><p>“You wanna give it a try?” </p><p>And Sam’s blushing but her fingernails are making tracks down the toned muscles of Tory’s abdomen, the hand on Tory’s injured arm is slipping into Sam’s back jeans pocket, and Sam knows there was something, there was a problem <em> (Robby), </em> they were arguing about something important <em> (Robby!)— </em> Tory reclaims her lips and her gloss tastes like strawberries and Sam <em> can’t— </em> she’s heard that there’s a fine line between love and hate and she’s pretty sure they’re crossing that line at about Mach freaking 10 in the middle of Nowhere, California— <em> Is that the only way you know how to fight? Dirty? </em> and, <em> This isn’t a tournament. There are no rules. </em> and, Tory licking into Sam’s mouth—</p><p>Someone’s phone starts to ring.</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Sam drives home in silence with one hand on the steering wheel and the other pressed against her kiss-swollen lips. They’re buzzing, just like the rest of her, like there’s champagne running through her veins instead of blood.</p><p>
  <em> (Shit, it’s me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Leave it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can't, it's my dad. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Leave it.) </em>
</p><p>She doesn’t know how she’s going to explain this. Like, she’s in <em> deep shit </em> because she doesn’t know how she’s going to explain why it took three tries for Daniel to reach her, why she’s coming back home more than an hour after her curfew, why it looks like someone’s been sucking on her lips when it can’t be her boyfriend (who no one's seen or heard from in days) and it <em> certainly </em> can’t be her ex-boyfriend (who’s wearing a neck brace that’s bracing nothing because it’s not as though he can <em> move). </em> </p><p>
  <em> (What…what do we do now? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Easy. I walk away, you drive home, we pretend this never happened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hey, wait! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> God, LaRusso! Just leave it alone.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What if I don’t want to pretend?) </em>
</p><p>She inches up the driveway and stares trepidatiously at the lone light shining on the bottom floor of her house. For a brief second she imagines turning the car around and flooring it, before sighing and turning off the engine. She has to face her parents at some point.</p><p>The house is quiet when she slips inside, and she tiptoes to the stairs because maybe she can avoid this right now—</p><p>“Sam?” <em> Shit. </em></p><p>Without turning around to face her mother, she takes one foot off the bottom step. “Hi, Mom.”</p><p>
  <em> (It doesn’t mean anything. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, well. It does to me.) </em>
</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>She lies awake that night, thinking.</p><p>About Miguel, and Robby, and the space inside of her that used to be brimming with anger but is now filled with a jumbled mess of sadness and confusion. About Carmen Diaz, sleeping in the hospital for a third night in a row. About each flashing second of the school battle royale, dissecting every moment, trying to determine the points that could have been done differently.</p><p>And about how, even though it’s been several hours and she’s taken a shower, she can still feel Tory’s heat on every inch of her skin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Things Netflix can but is deliberately choosing not to give me:<br/>- enemies to lovers<br/>- karate girlfriends</p></blockquote></div></div>
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